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Huh.
I wander into Nic’s kitchen, grab the first bottle I see—whiskey, unfortunately—and pour myself a finger.
Timothy got rid of his motorcycle. Other stuff, too, I assume.
He must be hurting right now. I know this is hard for him.
He said he was making changes, but I can’t believe he’s doing it.
Another finger of whiskey. I pull out a barstool, sit at the kitchen island, and stare at reflections in the huge glass windows.
Maybe it’s for me, and he’s going to ask to get back together again, but I don’t think so, or he would’ve invited me tonight. No, he’s doing this for him. Saying goodbye to risky shit.
I’m proud of him. Sad for him.
It doesn’t change anything, though. He can afford to replace anything he’s giving away. He’s still Timothy. Tigers don’t change their stripes and his feet will never stay on the ground, even if he promises.
Another finger of whiskey goes into my glass. It’s slowly shredding my resistance. I want to call him. See how he’s handling tonight. Ask him if I can come over. Take him back and hope he means it. Feel his body hard against mine.
My phone is in hand, but instead of calling Timothy I scroll up to the video his mom sent of The Floor is Lava. This is what I need—a heavy shot of reality.
I press play, and this time I watch the whole thing.
Stella, Danny, and Dex all take turns doing fancy tricks as they jump from chair to chair. It figures it would be Dex nailing it right before Timothy suddenly decides he’s in. But the others all make it look easy. Like they’ve practiced hundreds of times.
Oh god. They probably have. At countless barbecues and parties. What did Nic say? Thousands of hours of practice and muscle memory?
The person taking the video keeps it close, and the quality is high enough that I can see Timothy’s face as he stands on the chair, taking a moment to work out what he’s going to do, calculating the distance between the chairs. He loosens up his body, stretching while he does it, so it’s easy to miss the way his eyes move as he plans it out.
What happens next has to be magic. He goes into some kind of zone. Total concentration and yet…he looks relaxed as he executes his series of moves. And he’s precise. It looks as easy as breathing.
There’s other footage of him online, mostly from before we met, on set and off. I flip through at random. Some of it scares the shit out of me, but Timothy never looks surprised when he nails something.
He knows what he’s doing, and he’s good. So good.
My heart is full of him and I miss him more than ever, and maybe I can trust him to judge a situation accurately.
Accidents still happen. There are bloopers and I watch him fail too. Sometimes painfully. But something about watching him make mistakes and get back up soothes away my fears.
Eventually, I set my phone down, resting my head on my arms.
I told him I’d jump, but the moment I saw how far, I balked.
The thing is, I can live without Timothy. I can work myself to the bone and keep my heart to myself and endure day after day of meaningless, lonely grind because I did it before.
And I was stagnating, too scared to go on a date or take the next step with Wild Things.
I don’t want to go back to that. I love Timothy more than I love the quiet little space I’ve made to keep my heart safe. I love how he challenges me and how he makes me braver. I want him more than I want safety. I want to work things out with him, talk about the changes he’s making and the things he’s not willing to budge on, and this time I want to listen without going into fight-or-flight mode.
I want him back.
It’s time to take a risk. To jump all in, for real this time.
A groan comes from somewhere deep in my chest. My heart is already thumping. I don’t know how to jump. I need to show him I’m ready to live with a little fear in my life…but how?
Footsteps on tile—Nic’s home. He was with Timothy tonight, and I wasn’t. I should’ve been there. I groan again.
“You okay?” he asks.
